


The L Word

by lunadesangre



Series: Little Miracles [14]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunadesangre/pseuds/lunadesangre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan thinks too much. Or more accurately: Ryan plots too much. Even during sex. Even when he's in love. Actually, <i>especially</i> when he's in love. (And for all his plotting, sometimes he blurts out things without meaning to.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The L Word

One thing Ryan figures out pretty quickly – well, he _always_ figures things out quickly, but this particular something jumps at him, literally – is that Miguel likes kissing.

Actually, it’s more like this: Miguel kisses him like he doesn’t need any fucking air – but that’s okay, Ryan thinks, amused despite the white spots, brain _incapable_ of shutting up, even with that warm weight above him, all that warm skin under his hands, between his thighs, that heavy cock against his own, Miguel pressing them together tightly while invading Ryan’s mouth, thrusting hard against him, grinding Ryan into the floor. It’s okay because dying of lack of oxygen while having sex with Miguel Alvarez would probably be Ryan’s favorite way to go, really.

Besides, Ryan loves kissing too. Though, yeah, okay: he loves any kind of touch. But hey, it seems he’s not the only one, so it works out fine, really.

Well, besides the fact that Miguel’s apparently going to be the one topping all the fucking time, but Ryan doesn’t actually mind as much as he would have thought: he’s adaptable, for plots and schemes and even sex, it turns out, and he _does_ get what he wants – namely, Miguel Alvarez. The how doesn’t matter, only the end result: _any means to an end_ should probably be Ryan’s motto.

So with Miguel’s hand so fucking tight around their cocks, squeezing them together, jerking them off hard and fast, Ryan doesn’t help – he’s learned early on it’s better to let Miguel set the pace, let him do all the seducing, all the fucking. (Or not-quite-fucking.) When he’s apparently in control, literally on top of Ryan, Miguel looses any leftover traces of wariness: it becomes all teasing, hot amusement, insatiable hunger.

 _For him_.

And Ryan loves that: all of Miguel Alvarez – mind, body and soul – focused on him and only him.

Plus, the sex is _spectacular_. Latin lovers and all that shit. And Ryan can _let go_ , completely let go and not worry about anything for a little while, think of absolutely nothing but getting more of Miguel Alvarez, closer, closer still. It’s never enough and never close enough, but the letting go part is _liberating_. (And it’s funny, really, that Ryan’s never realized before, in his entire life, how much he needed that.)

So he ignores the fucking cold, rough concrete floor, wraps his legs around Miguel and enjoys the ride. Miguel’s a fucking _animal_ , like this, and Ryan would probably be laughing if Miguel wasn’t doing such a good job of short-circuiting his brain, if he wasn’t so busy sucking Miguel’s tongue inside his mouth, hard and rough to make him moan so damn low and feel the sound _everywhere_.

There’s still a little part of Ryan’s brain working, wondering in a slightly detached, almost third-party way, if it wouldn’t be that different, sucking on Miguel’s cock instead.

Probably not, Ryan thinks back, but he’d miss the feel of Miguel’s body all along his own – fuck, he’s warm and strong and alive, and right here right now he’s all Ryan’s. (As much as Ryan can have him anyway, because despite what Miguel seems to think, he doesn’t actually collect souls. But damn, if he could, he’d take Miguel’s. Just to make sure no one else could ever have it. And it’d be Ryan’s most treasured possession.)

Miguel’s let go of their cocks, clutching Ryan’s ass instead, fingers digging in in time with his thrusts, holding him in place, close, closer, trapped by Ryan’s legs and Ryan’s arms – and he’s heavy, actually, pinning Ryan down like that, with no concern and no restrains, pure _want_ and _need_ and letting go, taking and invading and _overwhelming_. Ryan can’t fucking breathe – but Miguel’s all his, and it’s the thought that does it, even more than the unbelievable tight pressure of Miguel’s hips against his own, crushing their cocks together, the uncontrolled twitch as Miguel looses it, releasing Ryan’s mouth – the sudden rush of air, all lightheaded white spots, relief, disappointment, and wordless gratefulness – and the sharp sting of Miguel’s teeth on the side of Ryan’s neck, the muffled, guttural moan vibrating against Ryan’s skin, in his veins, his bones, his heart, his soul. Fuck, all because of him and for him, _all his_. He feels the sudden warm wetness of Miguel’s come between them and just fucking _explodes_ – but even then, he knows it’s not enough.

Fuck, he wants more, so much more than this. Wants Miguel closer still, because it’s never close enough.

And to get closer than this, he thinks as he cools down – trailing his hands down Miguel’s back as Miguel presses his sweaty forehead against Ryan’s neck, eyes closed and breath puffing hotly against Ryan’s equally sweaty skin, slowly trailing his hands up against Ryan’s sides to rest his weight on his forearms instead of on Ryan's body – it’ll take some finessing. Miguel’s squittish, still. Ryan’s a guy: that fact never leaves Miguel’s brain. He’s a guy and he has a dick, and Miguel Alvarez is never gonna be anyone’s bitch. Ever. Because he’s not a maricon, case closed. And Ryan understands, because at some point he was like that, too.

But now, he doesn’t care, not anymore: he’s _in love_. Fuck what that makes him, he’s in love and nothing else fucking matters, just getting Miguel as close as humanly possible and keeping him there, _always, no matter what_.

Oh yeah, it’ll take finessing. But Ryan’s good at that.

And Miguel’s not a fucking rapist, or some kind of dangerous control freak; Ryan wouldn’t put himself in this position if Miguel was like, say, Schillinger – or probably any of the other fucks in this place, actually. But Miguel’s _Miguel_ : he’s _unique_. Fucked up, sure, but so’s Ryan, it’s just a lot less obvious. Miguel’s enough of a loner to be grateful for someone friendly, desperate enough to latch on to Ryan like a drowning man on a lifebuoy, and he’s loyal, fiercely so when it’s someone important to him – and Ryan has done his best to make himself indispensable.

So whatever the fuck Miguel's said about love and trust in this fucking place...Ryan knows it’s bullshit. He sees it in Miguel’s eyes. And he knows it’s the truth, because he’s fucking good at reading people. Miguel’s just a hard-headed fucker; he won’t admit it out loud, but that doesn’t make it any less real: Ryan’s important to him. Very fucking important. It’s all that matters to Ryan, really, to take a decision like that.

And as if to prove Ryan’s point, Miguel smoothly goes from panting against his skin to kissing Ryan’s neck to taking his mouth again, all languor and warmth, one arm on each side of Ryan’s head, encompassing him, filling up his vision with that downright fucking adorable crooked smile.

“You okay?” Because Miguel’s Miguel, and he always asks.

“Oh _yeah_ ,” Ryan answers, with feeling, “just let me find my brain again.”

“Right,” Miguel laughs, “like you ever looses it. You’re always thinking. Always plotting. I bet you plot even when we fuck, uh? Dunno what I can do to make you stop.”

Sometimes it’s scary how well Miguel can read him. In a dizzying, overwhelming way that has more to do with a fascinated addiction that any kind of fear – but that’s only a distant thought in Ryan’s mind. _That’s easy, you can fuck me_ is the loudest one, instantly, on the tip of Ryan’s tongue. He wants to say it – but that’s a can of squirming worms, and he knows they’re running out of their stolen time. It'd require an explanation, and even if it’s really simple in Ryan’s mind, it won’t be in Miguel’s. He’s the one who made that tit-for-tat deal, _Ryan_ is the one who wants to break it and Miguel won’t understand why – even if he’s already been unknowingly slipping off it with Ryan’s tendency to tug him on top – unless he’s faced with it straight out and too turned on to say no.

“You’re plotting again, aren’t you?” Miguel states more than asks, amused, leaning down to Ryan’s mouth. “Should I be worried?”

“Hmmm,” Ryan answers right against Miguel’s lips, craning up his head a little, “don’t be, I’d never hurt you, I love you.”

 _Fuck_.

Miguel gapes a little, but Ryan doesn’t give him time to freeze and kisses him instead, tugging him down almost off-balance. Except the idiot frees himself and sits up.

“Ryan, I, uh...” He doesn’t _actually_ look all that shocked, just at loss for words, like on some level he knew it was there but never thought it would ever _come out_ – and Ryan suddenly wants to laugh. Why, he’s not sure, but Miguel has a tendency to make very funny faces without meaning to, and Ryan’s still feeling very fucking good right now, like he could make peace with the whole world. (Well, the world outside of Oz and not including his father. Almost. Maybe.)

He sits up and strokes Miguel’s arms instead, unable to fight off the smile. “It’s okay, you know, don’t worry about it. I just do. Can’t change it.”

Miguel’s mouth opens and closes, and he drops his gaze with an unsure smile, tries again: “Ryan...” and makes another fish-out-of-water impersonation. Ryan laughs at him a little, he can’t help it, and Miguel definitely looks embarrassed now – and so fucking _cute_ it makes Ryan want to laugh even more, but he knows there’s only so much ruffling Miguel’s pride can take, so he kisses him instead, long and slow and deep, stealing his breath.

And his heart, if the look in Miguel’s eyes is any indication when Ryan finally lets him breathe.

He’s cupping Miguel’s face, stroking a little behind his ears and teasing at his hair, and Miguel clutches his ribs a bit convulsively when he makes another failed attempt at talking, an aborted unintelligible sound that could possibly be “ _I_...”

It’s right there in Miguel’s eyes as Ryan gently tugs him closer to rest their foreheads together. “Shhh,” he whispers against Miguel’s lips, closing his eyes, “I know, okay? I know.”

“Yeah,” agrees Miguel in a slightly choked whisper against Ryan’s skin, face sliding to the crook of Ryan’s neck, “ _yeah_.”

And it's enough to completely cement Ryan's decision.


End file.
